“I’m going to be brutally honest here,” I say, rather than accept his hand. “I’m about to embarrass myself really bad.”

“How so?” Leo asks, his head cocked with interest.

“I’m a big fan.” I swallow hard, shocked that any sound came out at all. “I’ve seen every tour. I love your music. In fact, it’s what got me through some really rough patches in my life. Including the day I walked out on my wedding and drove all the way here from central Oregon. But now I’m just babbling.”

“Not mad about this babble,” he says.

“Big fan,” I repeat.

“She wants you to take your shirt off.”

My eyes feel like they’re going to pop out of my sockets as I elbow Maggie in the stomach.

“Ignore her.”

“No, she really does.”

Leo laughs, and then, with a slight shrug, he just reaches over his shoulder and peels his black t-shirt over his head like it’s no big thing at all.

“Sweet baby Jesus,” I breathe. “Sorry. That was completely inappropriate. It’s the tattoos. Those stars on your hips—”

“Are delicious,” a petite blonde says as she joins us with a smile. She wraps her arm around Leo’s waist. “Trust me, I agree.”

“This is Samantha, Leo’s wife.” Maggie introduces us.

“Well, now I’ve gone and done it. I am so embarrassed. Please know I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

“It’s okay. The tattoos are something to write home about,” Samantha replies. “Did I hear that you walked out on your own wedding?”

“Yeah.” I sigh as Leo slips his shirt back over his head. Which is good. Because if he kept it off, I wouldn’t be able to think. “It’s a long story.”

“I have a feeling this is going to be a long party.”

The past month has felt like something out of a rom-com movie. Between how it all began, finding this pub, meeting these people, and the party a few days ago, more has transpired in the past four weeks than in the past four years of my life.

There’s never a dull moment.

Samantha Nash ended up giving me her number so we could have lunch together sometime. Leo ended up teasing me the rest of the day about taking his shirt off. The whole atmosphere was easy and laid-back as everyone laughed and ate, and then we watched as Stasia unwrapped gifts and cried from gratitude and hormones.

It was a day I won’t soon forget.

“How are you feeling, Izzy?” Fiona asks when I come into the kitchen to place an order for one of my tables.

“Oh, I’m doing very well, thank you. And you?”